


Like it's written in the stars

by Ptolemia



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, M/M, Mood Whiplash, pure angst, set mid-game through to post-game stuff right at the end, there is plenty of Cute Content tho dw its not like, to like a ridiculous degree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ptolemia/pseuds/Ptolemia
Summary: "Seconds march into the pastMoments pass and just like thatThey're gone."From the top of the tower, Asher Kendrell can see the world collapsing. There's no way left to save it, not for him, at least - so instead he sits, and he waits, and he remembers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title and quote of course taken from 'Paper Boats'. Multi-chapter, mostly finished but I might be slow on the updates since I've got a lot of irons in the fire right now. Also, come pester me on tumblr at www.moist-von-lipwig.tumblr.com where I post various bits and bobs, including some nice snaps of my Sybil cosplay, not that I'm saying you should go reblog those and stoke my ego or anything. Fic prompts are always open, on the understanding that it often takes me months to actually fill them...
> 
> Oh, and theres a bunch of skipping back and forth from the present to memories of the past throughout the fic, which... should be clear-ish, I hope??
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy!

The world's ending, thinks Asher, somewhere out there. Somewhere down in the city, it's all finally falling apart. Probably, in a terrifying sort of way, it's beautiful. Up here, everything looks just like it always did, only Grant's dead.

 

There's nothing beautiful left up here to fall apart.

 

Distantly, Asher can hear himself talking, though it hardly sounds like him – a panicked mutter of “Shit shit shitshitshit,” and “Grant, are you- Grant? Grant?” and then, ridiculously, “Stop it. Grant, please, _stop it._ ” Most of what he's saying is hardly intelligible, the words disordered by great shuddering sobs. His teeth are chattering, though he doesn't think it's cold. He fumbles for a pulse at Grant's wrist, but even in his utter terror it's a little half hearted – he knows. He's known since- he'd gone into the other room for a moment, and he'd... felt it, somehow.

 

“You're a fucking _coward_ , Grant. You're- you said- we were going to-” He doesn't bother finishing the sentence. It's too big, somehow, the enormity of the rejection. Saying it aloud might make it real.

 

Asher Kendrell is sat in an empty tower, talking to a corpse, and even know he's too much of a coward to say even half of what he's really thinking. “Well, that's something we've got in common, hmm?” he mumbles, with a little hiccup of laughter that's dangerously close to turning hysterical. “I mean, there you go, we-”

 

****

 

“- deserve each other, clearly,” says Grant, eyeing Asher over his steepled fingers with the faintest glimmer in his eye. “Since you appear to have no intention of abandoning your line of questioning, and I have no intention of indulging it.”

“Listen, Administrator,” Asher tries to glance as subtly as possible at his notepad, “... Kendrell, I feel quite certain that we are perfectly positioned to help one another. I wouldn't ask something for nothing. Indeed, I-”

Grant raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair and chuckles. “Are you trying to interview me, or bribe me?”

 

Asher sighs, hardly able to conceal his frustration. He's been grilling Administrator Kendrell for the best part of twenty minutes, and he doesn't think he's ever in his life met a man so purposefully contrary. It had taken him nearly three hours to argue his way past the very stern receptionist downstairs and get access to Kendrell's office, but the man himself is proving even more of a challenge. “Administrator Kendrell, Sir,” he says, “If you'd just answer a few of my-”

On the other side of the desk, Grant snorts. “Sir? I'm not a teacher, for goodness' sake.” He narrows his eyes. “How old are you?”

“... twenty-three,” says Asher, and then, partly because he doesn't think he has anything much to loose by riling Grant at this point, and partly because riling Grant is somehow the best fun he's had in months, “ _Sir_.”

“That explains a lot.” Grant leans back in his chair, shaking his head slightly. He sighs, but there's a glint in his eye which suggests that he's not quite as frustrated by Asher's presence as his tone of voice implies. “I'm not unreasonable. If you need to salvage an article for your paper I'll answer a few questions about the new pool system in Highrise or something of the sort.”

“That _is_ unreasonable!”

Grant laughs. “Well, you could be right there. Nonetheless, my point stands. Do you have any further questions?”

 

Asher frowns, and shakes his head, “I- no, that will be all. Thank you for your time, Administrator.” He shoves his notepad back into his satchel with a frustrated sigh.

“Why do I get the impression that you're intending to walk away and write an article about the lack of transparency in Cloudbank's governing body?”

Asher flashes him a winning smile as he stands to leave, “Because I'm about to walk away and write an article about the lack of transparency in Cloudbank's governing body.”

“Charming.”

“I try. And - off the record,” he picks his tape recorder up off the desk and clicks it off, “Aren't you at least a little interested in this whole- or, well, concerned, I suppose. There are things my research suggests which seem... troublesome. About the manner in which data concerning the city is being collected and handled at the very least or even- the way the files were corrupted it seemed as though- as if the city itself is-” He shakes his head. “I'm sorry. It sounds ridiculous when I say it aloud. I just-”

 

Grant leans forward, and his expression shifts slightly, “Your tape recorder is off?”

“Uh, yes, I just-”

“Sit back down.”

“But-”

“Sit.”

Asher sits down.

Grant fixes him with a very solemn stare. “I'm going to ask you a question, and I suggest, for the benefit of everyone involved, that you answer truthfully.”

“... alright.”

“Are you investigated in the... irregularities that you've uncovered because you are a journalist and you want to write an article about it, or do you have another reason to be questioning me about this?”

Asher shrugs. “In all honesty, I'm _interested_.”

“Interested,” says Grant, rather flatly. “I see. Well-”

“I mean, curious, you know. It's... strange. The city. And I want to know why.”

“I've been told that curiosity killed the cat.”

Asher glances at his cat (currently half-asleep on his shoulders) with mock alarm, “Keep it down, won't you? You'll scare the poor thing.”

 

Grant chuckles, and leans back. “So. Pure curiosity?”

“Yes, uh, if I'm entirely honest, Mr Kendrell-”

“Which is in your interest, as I've said.”

“Yes, I know. Uh. If I'm entirely honest I'm not... I'm not exactly on the clock right now. I mean, I had planned to make an article of it if I could – I've got rent to pay, and on top of that cat food isn't cheap, you know – but primarily this is a, well, I suppose you could say a personal project.”

Grant hums, and pulls a cigarette thoughtfully from a box on his desk. “I see. A personal project. Hmm. Well, I suppose you could say- oh, I'm sorry, do you mind?” he hesitates with the lighter hovering just below his cigarette.

Asher shakes his head.

“You should,” says Grant, lighting the cigarette with a rueful expression, “It's a terrible habit. Picked it up off an old friend a long time ago and I never quite seem to be able to shake it.” He takes a drag, and sighs. “Mmm. I'm sure you don't care to hear me ramble about that, though. What was I saying?”

“About the city, about-”

“Oh! Yes, yes, of course. Well, I'm afraid I have a call to take in-” Grant glances at his watch, “Less than five minutes time, and I'm sure I can't find any good reason to engage in speculative conversation about the nature of the city during work hours-”

“Oh come _on_ ,” groans Asher, “Cut me a break, you clearly-”

Grant holds up a hand for silence. “I'm not finished. I was about to say, that I can't discuss this during office hours, but if you've discovered something of interest and you'd care to drop by my house on- is Tuesday good for you?”

Asher nods, hardly able to believe his luck.

“Excellent. Tuesday at six. If you've found something sufficiently interesting, I might be inclined to discuss the matter with you. Now, if you don't mind,” says Grant, waving at the door, “I have a call to take.” His tone is stern, but the corner of his mouth quirks up into a little smile for a fraction of a second. 

 

Asher nods, and ducks out of the office with a murmur of thanks - and for some reason he can't quite put his finger on, he thinks about that smile all the way home.


End file.
